“She’s not, but even if she was, it wouldn’t matter,” her husband responded. “We no longer have anything to steal.”

Ava heard the call outside the window at an hour when no birds sang. It was the call of a messenger to warn of a battle to come. The gray heron was in the garden. He looked at the world as a map, in shades of blue and green, but now the colors were murky and there were black clouds everywhere, so that it was nearly impossible to see. Already, huge flocks of birds had taken to the sky, fleeing the city as if escaping from a fire. The darkness was caused by the descent of the angels. There were angels of confusion and of destruction and fear, and accusing angels who did their work in the darkness, so men and women never knew when they’d been marked. This world was shattering. Ava could see where it was breaking, a fine white line that revealed what had already passed and what was to come. She shook Lea awake.

In her groggy state, Lea didn’t think to be defiant when Ava said they must leave. She dressed quickly, while Ava tossed the suitcase out the window, then they both climbed out. There was a stream of pale moonlight, like the moonlight in a dream. It was already spring. The world was green and pulsing and beautiful.

“Hurry,” Ava told Lea, who lagged behind.

Lea now stopped on the path, refusing to go any further. “I don’t have to listen to you. You’re not my mother.”

Ava was not made to have emotions, but the remark hurt, as if she had pricked her finger on glass.

“You’re nothing to me,” Lea went on, furious with Ava ever since her refusal to go back to Berlin. “You go! Leave me here.”

Ava put down the suitcase. “I may not be your mother, but I act on her behalf. Do as I say.”

Lea’s eyes were blazing. “I won’t. I don’t want to go because I don’t want to be with you!” she cried.

“You can come with me,” Ava said, “or I can take you with me.”

“How? With a rope around my neck?”

“If I need to, yes.”

Their breath came hard in the cool, foggy night. Ava seemed even taller in her black boots.

“There is no rope,” Lea said uncertainly. “And, anyway, you wouldn’t dare.”

Ava nodded at the shrubbery that was covered with burlap, tied with heavy rope. It was a lilac and the leaves were growing right through the burlap. The rope was slack.

Lea knew what her mother would say if she had been there.

She has been sent to you to save your life. Don’t throw everything away.

“Fine,” Lea said grudgingly. “But first I say goodbye.”